


rivers and roads

by chailattemusings



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Fae manipulation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chailattemusings/pseuds/chailattemusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying seeks favors from the forest fae lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rivers and roads

Measuring the level of water in the sewers from one day to the next would be like counting individual grains of sand on the beach every morning. And yet, those who lived in the sewers could always tell when there was more; more water, more filth, more algae clinging to the walls like a slug clings to the edge of a leaf for dear life. Each new inch, every rise in the water against the canal’s walkways was like a ripple brushing over their skin, and every time Lying felt the changes they grinned with sharp teeth and looked to the world above for the cause.

There was always more in the winter. Light snow and constant rain combined with endless tracks of tires grating on the concrete that splashed slush into the storm drains, water dripping down the grates and filling the edges of the sewers until they rose and splashed on the walkways, staining stone and the edges of Lying’s shoes when they traveled from tunnel to tunnel, spying on the city and listening to the whispers of the wind scraping on the concrete, the steps of people weary with the weight of an entire life pushed onto their shoulders like steel girders.

In the winter the sewers were wetter and the stress of the city was pulled tight like a string, and Lying dared to venture out to seek the one person they could stand in this miserable excuse for humanity and magic that happened to be piled together in a piece of barely constructed rubble.

It was easy to travel in the shadows, like slipping from one end of a well worn glove to the other. No one noticed Lying under the cover of the night that was heavy like a blanket over their lazy human eyes, tied underneath bodies trapped to their beds. Lying moved against walls and in the shadows of streetlamps, until they found the small shop they’d been looking for, glowing bright green and whispy among the cold, grey dampness of the city’s winter.

The door was locked, but that didn’t matter. Lying slipped under the door and flicked their fingers towards the oil lamps hanging above their head, lighting the flames like small whipcracks. The orange light exploded over the small room, bending and curving over leaves and vines, a dull glow in the late evening.

Lying narrowed their eyes, looking over the small shop. It had never been very big; Kirin didn’t care for being flashy. People didn’t _trust_ flashy, he said, and Lying was willing to believe that to an extent. The right kind and amount of flashiness could carry someone far, but Kirin’s brand would be too … sickening; the kind of persuasiveness that stuck to the back of one’s throat and lodged there like cold medicine, turning the stomach and bringing on headaches. Kirin was better off doing subtle magic, spelling people in a way where they didn’t notice the stickiness on their tongues until they were already addicted to the medicine.

The side door opened and Kirin stepped in, smiling at Lying with his full set of teeth. In the long hours of the night there was no need for a disguise, only fangs and skin that was stained a deep blue like the surface of a swamp. He stood at his full height, towering over Lying even more than he did in his human glamour, hooves clacking on the wood floor. “Lying, my dearest,” he purred. “How sweet of you to visit.”

Lying wrinkled their nose and took a quick step back, the terms of endearment scuttling down their spine like spiders. “You continue to treat me like a pet,” they growled, one hand up with yellow stained nails, sharp enough to shred flesh. “Do not test me.”

Kirin held up his hands, innocent. “All right, don’t get mad. I was only teasing.”

Lying sneered but dropped their hand, bringing their heels together and standing as tall as they could manage, still several feet shorter than Kirin, whose antlers nearly scrapped the ceiling and threatened to jostle the oil lamps. “Your debts,” Lying said. “How do they fare this season?”

“Well enough.” Kirin pushed one of the lamps out of the way and ducked his head, walking to the back of the shop. He reached next to one of the ferns hanging in a pot, sweeping his hand underneath. The glow of green was unmistakable, and it shone bright when Kirin held the magic near his heart, lighting up a dozen different vines that draped across his shoulders and antlers. “The usual for the holiday season,” he said, with a deep laugh that rumbled like falling trees. “A few people desperate for last minute gifts, some whose plants had died during the early frosts, a few people short by a couple dollars.” Kirin touched each of the vines as he spoke, counting them like threads.

“Are there any good ones?” Lying asked, not moving from their spot in the corner, edges of their body flickering in motion with the shadows cast by the tired flames of the lamps.

Kirin laughed and petted his vine-like debts affectionately, like he was curling his fingers under a cat’s chin. “They’re all good, Lying. I would never turn down someone in need.”

Lying bared their teeth, razor sharp and aiming for Kirin’s throat if he continued being difficult. “Any that are _useful_ to me,” they clarified, huffing impatiently, fingers like steel knives at their side with nails ready to carve the wood from the very walls.

Ducking his head, as if he were actually sheepish, Kirin pulled a few vines loose from around his antlers, twirling them over his fingers in delicate motions, like he were playing piano with them, and offered his hand to Lying, who eagerly reached out only for Kirin to snap his hand back. “You owe me for this,” he said. “They’re vulnerable.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Lying hissed, curling their fingers toward the debts. “I will treat them with the utmost _respect_.”

Kirin eyed them for a long moment, and sighed, turning his hand over to place the debts gently in the center of Lying’s palm. Lying grinned and chuckled quietly, pulling their hand in close to their chest. “A wonderful service you provide indeed,” they said, meeting Kirin’s eyes and feeling the edges of their skin pull loose with their excitement, the giddiness flooding their nostrils and leaking out like the steam from a dragon’s mouth.

Kirin only clucked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest. “Will is going to notice, you know.”

“Will?” Lying’s eyes crossed, thinking hard, until the name clicked. “Ah, the technomancer. I’m not particularly worried about him.”

“You ought to be.” It was Kirin’s turn to grin, the expression sliding slowly into place the more Lying furrowed their brow at his words. “He’s less of a mage and more of a sorcerer, now. He’s been picking up some of my debts, thinks himself a clever little thief.”

Lying flinched, fingers flexing over their new wares, hunching into a protective crouch. “He can touch these?!” they spat. “You didn’t tell me that! Traitor!”

Kirin held his hands up, innocent. “He hasn’t touched _those_ specific debts. He keeps breaking the small ones and trying to carry the bigger ones himself.” He rolled his eyes the way a parent might when their child tried to cook for the first time. “I’m not worried. He’ll crush himself under the weight eventually, and then he’ll have to come crawling to me for more help. Either way,” Kirin’s eyes slid down to Lying’s chest, to the hand that held the debts. “Be _careful_. You’re going to break those.”

Watching him, eyes darting up his large frame, Lying slowly uncurled and glanced down at their hand. The debts were intact, if a little shaken. More roughhousing like that, however, would leave them as broken shells, and their owners confused and even more deeply entrenched in magic that could not be unbound without help.

Tucking their hand into their pocket, Lying bowed swiftly. “I shall put great use to these. Continue to collect your debts.”

“Continue to pay for them,” Kirin said, lips lifting in a sneering mock of a smile. “I won’t let your tab slide forever.”

“Yes, of course,” Lying said, and turned, fading into the shadows as easily as the humans crossed thresholds, slipping underneath the door and into the dark, cold night of the city.

Kirin wouldn’t let their tab go forever, no. He was too smart for that. But not smart enough to collect payment when it was needed, always a fan of holding his earnings over people’s heads. And that was where his true weaknesses lay.

Lying snaked through the darkness, curling between the cracks in the sidewalks and under the curves of snow drifts, finding their way beyond streetlamps and headlights to the shadows that would keep them shrouded and painted black like the depths of a soul, until they came to another sewer entrance, diving in with the speed of a hungry shark.

One day Kirin would forget to collect a payment, and it was that day that Lying would make him pay for thinking he could hold them in a debt the way he did with petty mortals and lesser faeries.

Lying wove through the underground stones and water and algae, clothes sloshing with the heavy weight of waste and putrid stenches until they found their collection, buried deep in the earth, even deeper than the heart of the city subway that made life and light thrum through the lives of its miserable people. They pulled their body together enough to pry the debts from their pocket, lining them up against a wall, smushed into the moss and slime that stuck to the walls. Soon the acid would eat them away, along with their owner’s sense of safety, and then Lying would venture to the surface once more, to collect what was owed to them.

Kirin held the debts in his hands, but Lying fashioned them into power, a weapon. Soon the day would come when Kirin couldn’t hold enough and Lying’s claws would no longer be brittle, when the city would hear the cry of the shadows that lived beneath their feet.  


End file.
